I am an attorney and a bill-discounter. As it is my vocation to lend
money at high interest to extravagant people, my connection principally
lies among "fools," sometimes among rogues "of quality." Mine is a
pursuit which a prejudiced world either holds in sovereign contempt, or
visits with envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness; but to my mind, there
are many callings, with finer names, that are no better. It gives me two
things which I love--money and power; but I cannot deny that it brings
with it a bad name. The case lies between character and money, and
involves a matter of taste. Some people like character; I prefer money.
If I am hated and despised, I chuckle over the "per contra." I find it
pleasant for members of a proud aristocracy to condescend from their high
estate to fawn, feign, flatter; to affect even mirthful familiarity in
order to gain my good-will. I am no Shylock. No client can accuse me of
desiring either his flesh or his blood. Sentimental vengeance is no item
in my stock in trade. Gold and bank-notes satisfy my "rage;" or, if need
be, a good mortgage. Far from seeking revenge, the worst defaulter I ever
had dealings with cannot deny that I am always willing to accept a good
post-obit.
I say again, I am daily brought in contact with all ranks of society,
from the poverty-stricken patentee to the peer; and I am no more
surprised at receiving an application from a duchess than from a pet
opera-dancer. In my ante room wait, at this moment, a crowd of
borrowers. Among the men, (beardless folly and mustachioed craft are most
prominent,) there is a handsome young fellow, with an elaborate cane and
wonderfully vacant countenance, who is anticipating in feeble follies, an
estate that has been in the possession of his ancestors since the reign
of Henry the Eighth--there is a hairy, high-nosed, broken-down
nondescript, in appearance something between a horse-dealer and a
pugilist. He is an old Etonian. Five years ago he drove his four-in-hand;
he is now waiting to beg a sovereign, having been just discharged from
the Insolvent Court, for the second time. Among the women, a pretty
actress, who, a few years since, looked forward to a supper of steak and
onions, with bottled stout, on a Saturday night, as a great treat, now
finds one hundred pounds a month insufficient to pay her wine merchant
and her confectioner. I am obliged to deal with each case according to
its peculiarities. Genuine undeserved Ruin seldom knocks at my doer. Mine
is a perpetual battle with people who imbibe trickery at the same rate as
they dissolve their fortunes. I am a hard man, of course. I should not be
fit for my pursuit if I were not; but when, by a remote chance, honest
misfortune pays me a visit, as Rothschilds amused himself at times by
giving a beggar a guinea, so I occasionally treat myself to the luxury of
doing a kind action. My favorite subjects for this unnatural generosity,
are the very young or the poor, innocent, helpless people, who are unfit
for the war of life. Many among my clients (especially those tempered in
the "ice book" of fashion and high-life--polished and passionless) would
be too much for me, if I had not made the face, the eye, the accent, as
much my study as the mere legal and financial points of discount To show
what I mean, I will relate what happened to me not long since:--
One day, a middle-aged man in the usual costume of a West-End shopman,
who had sent in his name as Mr. Axminster, was shown into my private
room. After a little hesitation, he said, "Although you do not know me,
living at this end of the town, I know you very well by reputation, and
that you discount bills. I have a bill here which I want to get
discounted. I am in the employ of Messrs. Russle and Smooth. The bill is
drawn by one of our best customers, the Hon. Miss Snape, niece of Lord
Blimley, and accepted by Major Munge, whom, no doubt, you know by name.
She has dealt with us for some years--is very, very extravagant; but
always pays." He put the acceptance--which was for two hundred
pounds--into my hands.
I looked at it as scrutinizingly as I usually do at such paper The
Major's signature was familiar to me; but having succeeded to a great
estate, he had long ceased to be a customer. I instantly detected a
forgery; by whom?--was the question. Could it be the man before me?
Experience told me it was not. Perhaps there was something in the
expression of my countenance which Mr. Axminster did not like, for he
said, "It is good for the amount, I presume?"